Heart of the Winterland Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Kristen Kooistra

  All rights reserved.

  Cover design by Andrea Myers

  Book design by Kristen Kooistra

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Kristen Kooistra

  Visit my website at www.KristenKooistra.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN-13 978-0-9973748-0-3

  First Printing: June 2016

  Creekside Publishing

  By

  Kristen Kooistra

  Dedicated with love to my husband and children,

  who are the heart of my winterland.

  Prologue

  Sunlight glinted harshly off the blood-spattered snow covering the courtyard. Terrified screams, crackling flames, and the cries of wounded soldiers formed a strident cacophony that grated on the queen of Trabor’s ears. Through the castle window, she stared impassively at the pandemonium below.

  Knights scrambled to escape their hoofed attackers and flames leapt high into the sky from the burning stables. A magical barrier cast by the leader of the attacking horde stood between the castle and the fighters, tinting the scene a poisonous green. Separated from the rest, two figures fought at the base of the castle steps. One darkness, the other sunlight. The black-clad witch beat back the fair-haired man.

  None of this was going according to plan. At least, not according to the queen’s plan. But she had one last card to play.

  Little arms wound around her neck. “Mama.” The queen didn’t look down, but pressed the child’s sunny head against her shoulder. “Shush now, darling. Everything will be fine.”

  But everything wouldn’t be fine. Not for her, not for her husband, and not for the kingdom. None of that mattered though. Her daughter would survive, and that was the only life she cared about. Sure, it would’ve been nice to save herself, but she’d come to terms with the fact that her life was cursed from the start. At least she could do this one thing. At least she could save her daughter.

  “We’re going to hide. You need to be a good girl and not cry.”

  The princess looked up at her, wide eyes full of trust. She didn’t answer, only clung tighter to her mother.

  The queen turned from the scene. The battle was lost. She didn’t need to see anymore.

  With the princess in her arms, she fled across the stone floor. Her footsteps echoed as the noise of battle faded into the background. The twists of the castle corridors were familiar, and she reached the sanctuary quickly.

  She rushed into the sparsely furnished chamber and slammed the door behind her. Shaky fingers fumbled at the latch as she secured the door. If attacked, it would not hold long. She rested her forehead against the smooth wood, closed her eyes, and tried to even her breathing. Distant screams filtered in through the solitary window.

  The child squirmed in her arms. “Daddy?” Tears sprang to the queen’s eyes as the sweet voice tore at her heart. She stepped to the canopied bed and gently laid her daughter on the soft covers.

  Too weak to stand any longer, she knelt on the cold floor and soothed her daughter. “I love you, my sweet princess.”

  Hands shaking, she took a vial full of green liquid from the wooden chest of drawers next to the bed. She uncorked it, lifted her daughter’s head, and helped her swallow. Carefully she returned the bottle to its stand and lowered the child’s head to her pillow. The medicine would help her sleep, sparing her from the coming terror.

  There had never been any real hope that the fight would go in their favor. The enemy was too powerful, and the queen had no doubt who would be the next person through the door.

  As her golden-haired angel slept with her fist curled tightly around the blanket, the queen murmured, “She will never remember this; never know the terrible price I will pay for her life.”

  She forced herself to turn her mind elsewhere and opened the silk purse on her hip. Inside laid her miracle, the final defense, and the one thing that would save her baby.

  The timing had to be perfect to unleash such a powerful magic that would require no less than her life. Magic always needed a power source. Most of the time that power came from the caster, but this magic was not of her making, and it would require her life force and more. She needed the witch nearby to act as a power source.

  A humorless laugh burst from her thin lips as she dropped the magic that altered her appearance. Luring the witch to her and dying would be easy. The enemy would be all too happy to oblige.

  The sounds of battle ceased, and the smell of smoke reached her. Muscles taut with anxiety, she waited. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her breathing rasped, loud even to her own ears. Then she heard it: a single pair of boots marching towards her.

  She placed herself between the door and her child, steeling herself for what she had to do. The boots halted, pausing outside her pitiful barrier.

  “Luku!” a triumphant shout rang from the other side. The door disintegrated into a pile of dust.

  In the gaping doorway loomed the witch responsible for all the death and destruction. Her ebony hair escaped its long plait, trailing over her shoulders. Dark eyes screamed their victory as a cruel smile crossed her face. Her presence dominated the room, seeping into every corner like poison.

  “It is over, Your Majesty. No one will be coming to your rescue, not even your feckless husband.” The witch’s eyes flashed with loathing and triumph. “I have annihilated everyone foolish enough to stand in my way. Now, at last, you will know my pain.”

  The witch waited, but the queen had no interest in humoring her attacker. Finally, the witch drew a long, tapered finger along the stone wall and continued, “Do not fret; it will be over soon enough. You will perish knowing everything you loved is destroyed.” She glanced meaningfully at the bed. “Or soon shall be.”

  The queen’s resolve hardened. She straightened. Careful not to draw the witch’s eyes, she reached into her pouch, withdrew the stone, and put all the disdain she could muster into her voice, “All this hatred and over something that was never yours. All this wanton destruction. And for what? You still will never get what you want.” Her fist clenched around the stone, now slick with sweat. “I will stop you at whatever cost.”

  With a shriek, the witch jerked a dagger from her belt and threw herself at the queen. The sharp steel pierced the queen’s flesh, and she stumbled back.

  The witch stepped away, her hard eyes emotionless. “It is over.”

  The queen pulled the knife from her chest, despite the pain, before toppling to the floor.

  “Yes, it is,” she said triumphantly, and thrust the stone before her. “Ola no ola!” A blinding light shot from the stone, throwing the witch against the wall and knocking her unconscious.

  Using the last of her strength, the queen dug her nails into the cracks of the stone floor and dragged herself to her child’s bed. The stone lay forgotten, a tendril of light connecting it to the queen as it drained her.

  She pulled herself up to touch her daughter one last time. “This gift I give you, my sweet. My life for yours. I pray you will grow into a wise and compassionate princess. One day you will be queen, and I hope a better one than I.”

  Behind her the stone’s brightness intensified as its power built. Her vision grew da
rk as she struggled for the strength to continue. “I cannot protect you any longer, but you will not be alone. A companion—” Her voice rattled in her chest, and she fought for every word.“—will be given to you, a voice to guide you. Always know . . . you . . . are loved.” She fell to the cold floor, her body relinquishing its final breath.

  The strand of light connecting queen to stone snapped and a blinding light flooded the land. When it faded, the kingdom lay empty of all human life, save the princess. Even the bodies of the slain had vanished from the land without a trace. The princess slept on, her hair now raven black, as a glowing orb hung over her head.

  Chapter 1

  198 years later

  Once upon a time, there was a snowbound kingdom called Trabor that had long been forgotten. No one had ventured into it for a very long time. Those who’d tried would enter the forest that surrounded the kingdom only to take a few steps and find themselves exiting where they had started. Whispers of Trabor faded into legend, and legend became myth, until even its name vanished, lost to the world outside its borders.

  Devoid of almost all human life, Trabor lay in the icy grip of a never-ending winter. Frozen lakes dotted the land with their glassy luster. Hemlocks, firs, and cypresses scattered the countryside. Foxes crept across the snow, pouncing on its crust to reach the vermin beneath, as reindeer pawed for tender lichens. Thick-furred, white rabbits meandered across the fields, nosing for the snow grass that clustered around rocks and trees.

  In the center of the kingdom, on a snowy rise, stood a glorious castle. Polished white stone formed the walls, while towering turrets, like spun glass, pointed towards the sky. A blanket of snow adorned the peaks of the roof, while a faint, warm glow peeped through the windows.

  The two residents of this frosty realm had spent years deep under a spell. A spell that suppressed natural behavior and kept them in a state of apathy.

  With hair as dark as the night sky, eyes blue as snow in the moonlight, and skin as fair as dawn’s first blush, Princess Calisandra’s looks belied her years. She had been the only human in her kingdom for as long as she could remember. For all she knew, she might be the only human to ever live in Trabor.

  The second being was Cali’s guardian, Voice: a floating, lucent, white orb the size of a coconut. Cali’s earliest memories were filled with Voice creating magical enchantments to entertain her: butterflies that danced over her head, dishes that sang as they made meals, cherry-scented fires, and bright yellow wisps that tickled her nose before darting off with her in pursuit.

  Food, clothing, fires in the hearth, cleaning, all of it was done by Voice’s magic. It had always been this way, and Cali accepted it just as she did everything else in her life.

  Every morning Voice would say, "You are loved.” Cali never thought much of it. How could one be loved when one was alone? For though Voice cared for Cali’s needs, she was a reserved and impersonal guardian, and the two spent much of their time apart. Being loved sounded so pleasant that at times Cali hoped for love. That hope was faint, but like the sun that struggled to warm her land, it was always there.

  Cali’s two hundredth birthday dawned on a cold day like any other. But something had changed and it was not to be a day like the many that had come before it.

  ❄❄❄

  Cali sat on the cozy window seat in her room, leaning against the glass and gazing out at the snowflakes that drifted down to nestle amongst those already fallen. Her breath fogged the window, clouding the scene, and she slumped against the pile of pillows behind her. A sigh escaped her lips.

  Another birthday. Two hundred years old and my life isn’t any different than it has ever been. Cali picked up the pillow beside her and threw it at the far wall. It hit with a soft, unsatisfying thump and fell to the floor.

  She had never thought much of birthdays. Books portrayed birthdays as exciting and fun, but hers were like any normal day. There was no party, no games, no friends, no cake made by a loving mother.

  She scowled and tried to snap out of her wistful thoughts. A birthday is just another day, there’s nothing special or magical about them. Why is it bothering me this year?

  She’d been like this all morning—restless, moody, and alert. Her thoughts wandered through her normal routine: Get up, get dressed, eat, sit in the library, eat again, help tend the garden, take some of the castle horses for a run, read until supper, eat, and then read until her eyes couldn’t stay open. Today the thought of following that same pattern bored her endlessly.

  Cali rubbed her thumbs against her forehead. “What is wrong with me today?” I’ve been doing the same routine for years. I should’ve been bored long before now.

  Her nerves taut, Cali sifted through her emotions and tried to place this sudden anxiety. Unable to bear sitting any longer, she abandoned the comfy seat, snatched up the book she’d finished the night before, and headed towards the library. At least I’ll do my reading at a different time.

  The castle library had always been her favorite room. Books about faraway places, people both noble and common, and even proper etiquette piqued her interest. She’d spent most of her two hundred years curled up with a book in front of a roaring fire.

  Cali pushed open the intricately carved wooden doors leading to the library. Mahogany shelves crammed full of books spanned the width of the room. The ceiling towered overhead, ending in a painted mural of the night sky. A chandelier hung in the center. From its curved tips dangled thin, silver chains, each holding a delicately crafted star. At the far end of the library, three plush chairs surrounded a lit fireplace that crackled merrily and filled the room with the aroma of cherries.

  Trailing her fingers listlessly across a row of books, Cali tried to summon some enthusiasm. Where do these books come from? Did Voice create them? Are they based on truth or simply stories?

  She settled into one of the chairs before the fire and thumped the book from her room against her leg. Picking out yet another book did not appeal to her. She raised the book—what had it been about—and traced her fingers over the gold embossing on the cover.

  The pages were crisp to the touch as she flipped through them. Her forehead crinkled as she stopped halfway. Between the pages was a folded sheet of aged parchment. She gently slid it out from its resting place. This wasn’t here last night. I would’ve noticed it. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the yellowed paper. A map!

  Never had she seen a map like this before. Whereas most maps portrayed Trabor as the only country, this map showed a kingdom to the south. Looping, elegant letters deemed it Shayal. Cali squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. When she looked again the map still lay before her.

  She gazed into the flickering flames that danced with the same joy that filled her heart. What if I’m not the only human? One of her legs jiggled with uncontained excitement as her fingers tapped on the arm of the chair. Unable to sit still, she leapt up and jumped onto the nearest ladder attached to a row of shelves. She held on to the rungs and gave an enthusiastic shove with her slippered foot. The ladder careened down the side of the room as Cali threw back her head and laughed.

  No sooner had the ladder stopped than she sent it flying back the way it came. Throwing one hand in the air, she shouted, “There’s not just me!” This time she wasn’t prepared for the ladder’s stop and tumbled to the floor. The fall knocked the wind out of her, as well as her enthusiasm.

  So what if I found a map? It only proves that there’s another kingdom. Shayal could be as desolate as Trabor. There are lots of maps of Trabor, and those certainly aren’t evidence of a kingdom full of people.

  Cali trudged back to her room, plopping on her window seat to stare at the snowflakes. Can I do this for another two hundred years? Burying myself in books, attempting to escape the drudgery of my life?

  For a week, she hardly left her room. Her emotions were all over, vacillating from depressed, to frustrated, to excited, to hopeful. She’d never felt so much. For the first time, there was hope of someth
ing new. A promise of a life filled with people. But what if I’m wrong? What if there are people, but they don’t like me? What if something happens to me out there?

  The bigger question was, why did she care? Why did any of it matter now, when she’d been content for so long?

  The sudden change in Cali’s behavior seemed to ignite a protective urge in Voice. She became unusually attentive, hovering like an anxious mother deer. Though Cali knew Voice was concerned for her welfare, she couldn’t help feeling annoyed at the smothering.

  Cali became more restless, leaving half-finished books all over the castle, picking at her meals, and neglecting the horses.

  Finally, on one of the rare days when the snow wasn’t falling, she made up her mind. I can’t live like this another week, much less another two hundred years. This day would be different; her life was going to be different. Fear would not rule her. No matter what lay beyond her borders, she would face it.

  She turned her gaze from the window and scanned the bedroom to find Voice hovering over an open book.

  "Voice, I'm going on a journey. I've already thought long and hard about it. I’m not sure what lies out there—”Cali gestured vaguely out the window“—but I want to find out. Quite frankly, I don’t know why I didn’t decide to venture out years ago. Nothing ever happens here.” With a final sigh of disgust, Cali flopped back onto the seat cushions.

  "Where will you go?"

  Cali gaped. “You’re not forbidding me from leaving?”

  A note of amazement touched Voice’s tone as she responded, “No . . . I guess I am not.” She muttered softly, “How strange.”

  Taking advantage of Voice’s silence, Cali answered, "I'm going to Shayal. There has to be people there. I can’t be the only human.” Softly, she whispered, “I just can’t be. I want to see the world beyond this castle. And look." Cali took out the map and waved it around. “I found this a week ago in a book I’d just read the night before. It shows Shayal along our southern border. I know this wasn’t in that book when I read it. It must be a sign. Even if it’s not, I’m going.”